“What a brace of blasted bunglers you are!” cried the marquis, and turning away his face, lay silent. The two men looked at each other, and said nothing.
Malcolm was by, and a keen pang shot to his heart at the verdict. The men retired to consult. Malcolm approached the bed.
“My lord!” he said gently.
No reply came.
“Dinna lea ’s oor lanes, my lord—no yet,” Malcolm persisted. “What’s to come o’ my leddy?”
The marquis gave a gasp. Still he made no reply.
“She has naebody, ye ken, my lord, ’at ye wad like to lippen her wi’.”
“You must take care of her when I am gone, Malcolm,” murmured the marquis; and his voice was now gentle with sadness and broken with misery.
“Me, my lord!” returned Malcolm. “Wha wad min’ me? An’ what cud I du wi’ her? I cudna even haud her ohn wat her feet. Her leddy’s-maid cud du mair wi’ her—though I wad lay doon my life for her, as I tauld ye, my lord—an’ she kens ’t weel eneuch.”
Silence followed. Both men were thinking.